


Forget to Feed Our Fear

by gloss



Category: Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Blow Jobs, M/M, Porn with Feelings, instafic, set photos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-24
Updated: 2018-08-24
Packaged: 2019-07-01 22:33:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15783456
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gloss/pseuds/gloss
Summary: Finn and Poe kill some time on a mission.Inspired by the leaked Episode IX set photos, but comprehensible without knowing them. (Vague) costume spoilers, I suppose.





	Forget to Feed Our Fear

**Author's Note:**

  * For [orchis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchis/gifts).



> Never recovering from those [set photos](https://www.thesun.co.uk/tvandshowbiz/7086398/star-wars-9-pictures-filming-john-boyega-oscar-isaac-chewbacca/). Boots and gloves and BULGES, oh, yes.
> 
> Or, as @orchis said, _Finn kissing and rubbing his face all against those inner thighs and bulge like añsdlkjfadsf_.

> _I swear I way more than half believe it when I say that somewhere love and justice shine._  
>  _Cynicism falls asleep._  
>  _Tyranny talks to itself._  
>  _Sappy slogans all come true._  
>  _We forget to feed our fear._ \-- The Weakerthans, "Confessions Of A Futon-Revolutionist"

"Not bad, right?" Poe turned slowly, hitching up his thigh holster, ticking one hip this way, then that, to show off his disguise. The trousers, utilitarian as Finn's own, somehow looked to be poured on, and his white jersey was snugger than many bacta-suits. His knee-high boots were his own, supple dark hide that hugged his calves and matched the pair of gloves dangling from one back pocket. "Feel like it's Winter's Ghost Day and I'm going to win *every* sweet giveaway!" 

He looked like someone Finn would chat up in any cantina across the galaxy: incredibly handsome, easy in his skin, intriguing to peel out of each snug inch of fabric.

It was easy to forget, sometimes, that Poe was actually a military guy. Well. It was easy for Finn to forget, but even as he had the thought, he had to second-guess himself. Of course Poe was military, that was his...whole...Poe-ness. Poeitas.

"Why do you look like you just ate an unripe koyo?" Poe asked, stopped in the entryway. He waved a hand up and down in front of Finn's face. "Hey. Finn."

"Here, sorry," Finn said, backing up. "You look. Good different a little of both everything yeah."

"That was all one breath, wasn't it?" Poe asked and grinned when Finn nodded guiltily. "Cool, I thought I was the only one who could do that."

"Do what?"

"Think aloud without stopping for breath." He slapped Finn's upper arm with his gloves. "Let's get a move on."

They shared a hovercycle out to the drop point, then boarded a regularly scheduled transit shuttle out to Lnub-5. 

"Horticulturalists!" Poe told the nosy lady sitting across from them when she demanded to know what they were heading toward. He lifted their gear duffel as if it proved something. "Me and him, we just can't get enough of the...you know." He elbowed Finn. "The plants!"

"Botanist," Finn said, pointing to himself. "He's just a very enthusiastic amateur."

"It's true." Poe hung his head and sighed deeply. "I know what I like, and I know a plant when I see one, but this guy...he's the expert."

She told them all about her sand-garden and then fumbled with a pocket holo-caster so she could show it off, but its power was low, and it wouldn't jack into anything on board. Finn learned that the hard way, because she made him go up and down the narrow aisle, asking everyone.

He'd hoped to spend the trip out reviewing case files, even napping, though, realistically, he'd expected that he'd just end up playing Force Alive: The Collectible Card Game with Poe again. Every time they had a short-run mission like this, Poe whipped out his deck, and it was always bigger and better populated than last time. He refused to let anyone in on his source, either.

In anticipation of Poe's dogged determination to beat the entire Resistance (all forty of them), Finn had packed the Lil' Anakin card he'd bartered from C'ai Threnally, as well as a Kyber Shard that he'd won from Rose.

See, this right here was why it could be very difficult to remember who Poe was and what he did. He was everyone's friend, a prodigy at the card game, an adept of what he *still*, after all this time, insisted on calling the Costume Department. Everyone else called it mission outfitters, or V'lanka the Seamstress.

When the shuttle docked on Lnub, they were among the last to descend the steep, audibly groaning moving stairs. Poe had the duffel slung over one shoulder and he kept up a constant stream of chatter while scanning the arrivals bay.

"FO guards at south, southeast," he murmured when they stepped off the stairs. "Clear to the north." Then, more loudly, "I say we check out the prairies first, sweetie, *then* go to the hostel. Acre on acre of singing grass wait for no man!"

"You're the boss," Finn agreed, but Poe hipchecked him.

"Excuse you, we're *partners*," he said, then gave Finn that big, bright smile that could sweet-talk jail turnkeys and nosy little old ladies and just about everyone else this side of Armitage Hux. He linked their arms and did not let go, even as they made their way through Lnub's desultory customs and quarantine checkpoints.

"We're romantic partners, too?" Finn whispered as they exited the facility. The air here smelled like pollen and space fuel.

"Babe," Poe said, voice husky, eyes lowered, as he squeezed Finn's hand. "Of course we are."

They were undercover, so every word was a lie, just like their outfits were disguises. But they also wore some of their usual pieces—Poe's boots, Finn's trousers—so the lie emerged from the truth, like patchwork.

"Cool," Finn said, "Good to know."

Getting to the famous singing prairie was far easier than their briefings had indicated. They walked to the end of the streetcar tracks, hung a left, and after a few low-slung, nondescript buildings, they were on the prairie. Several steps more, and the singing grass surrounded them, drowning out any trace of the spaceport, describing its own wavering, tremulous horizon.

When their locator beacons beeped, indicating that they'd reached their destination, Finn stopped. It all looked the same. He turned slowly around, head tilted back. All he could smell now was the grass, and all he could see above was the wide pink sky.

"Hey," Poe said from behind him. Finn went still as Poe stepped forward. His hands settled on Finn's waist, then his chest nudged up against Finn's back, then his mouth pressed on the base of Finn's neck. Again, even more quietly, as he drew somehow closer, he said, "Hey."

"Hey," Finn said, tugging Poe's hands around him. "Is this about the mission?"

"This," Poe said, nosing against Finn's collar, "Is about you. Always is."

"You don't say." 

"Oh, I say. I say a lot, even vehemently." He kissed the back of Finn's ear, caught the lobe in his teeth and sucked. Tingles shot through Finn and he trembled.

"We've got about five hours to moonrise," Finn reminded him.

"However shall we pass the time?"

Finn covered Poe's hands with his own and leaned back slightly. When Poe's knee came between Finn's thighs, Finn squeezed around it and felt Poe's chuckle rise through his chest well before the sound left his lips. And then, it was on Finn's skin, his throat, the hinge of his jaw, as he turned his head so they could kiss.

"This could work," Finn said. "Unless you wanted to play Force Alive?"

Poe cupped Finn's cheek and kissed him again. "Later. I've got plans for that Kyber Shard card, believe me."

"Keep dreaming, Dameron." Finn faced him now, as the grass swayed around them and its song built new highs. Poe started to smirk, big jackass tilt to his mouth and furrowed brows, but then Finn cupped his crotch and watched surprise, excitement, anticipation break over Poe's face in waves. 

"I'm dreaming *now*," he managed to say. 

Finn twisted his free hand in the strap of Poe's satchel and pulled Poe forward; the heel of his other hand rocked against the already-well-defined bulge in Poe's trousers. Their kiss this time was a lot wetter, slipperier, than before, Poe mumbling into it and spreading his legs.

The guy in Finn's arms was warm and strong, impatient, his face flushed and a few curls already drooping with sweat. He was, in a word, *real*, and Finn knew that, had known that this whole time, but there are grades of real. This, when Finn dropped to his knees and pressed his face against Poe, rubbed it all over the rough fabric and taut laces, was something more than he'd been dealing with previously.

Poe touched Finn's cheek, his ear, the tip of his chin. He gazed down, smiling faintly. "You in there?"

Finn wanted to crack wise, make a Poe-style joke about _getting into_ something, but the wordplay refused to assemble. "Don't want to forget this," he said instead.

Poe's boots creaked as he shifted position. "You won't."

"Don't want to," Finn said. "*Can't*."

"Then," Poe said, fake-slapping Finn's cheek, "Why not make it memorable?"

Finn wrapped an arm around Poe, tugging open the fasteners on his fly, easing the trousers down a little way. Poe yelped when the grass tickled bare skin, then groaned when Finn grasped hold of one broad buttock. Finn lifted his dick out and nosed in the dark, dragging kisses over Poe's upper thighs and crotch, the base of his shaft, until Poe grabbed at Finn's head and said, "Please, man—"

Smiling, Finn looked up, locked eyes on Poe's, and took the head between his lips. He massaged Poe's ass, gathered him closer, bobbed his head up, then down, a little further down each time.

He kept his gaze on Poe's face, working his tongue against the shaft, swallowing already, and watched Poe's expression sharped into that grave focus usually reserved for flying, arguing, and fucking. Everything else fell away, Poe's hands grabbing at Finn's shoulders, his neck, his knees knocking into Finn's chest.

Poe's gloves were rough against Finn's neck, unfamiliar, and Finn pushed into that feeling, opened his throat and tipped back his head. His fingers were buried in Poe's crack by now, holding on, and sweat ran into his eyes as Poe's dick filled his mouth, his throat, his *skull*.

"How are you—" Poe shook his head, gentling his hold on Finn as his thighs bunched and hips thrust, "How are you *real*? Fuck, Finn—"

His voice wasn't broken so much as new. Raw as Finn's own throat felt, equal parts tentative and intense.

Tremors ran up Poe's legs, communicated right into Finn, and he twitched and grew thicker yet before snapping forward and freezing, pumping down Finn's throat. His grasp scrabbled at Finn's head and shoulders.

"Finn," he said. 

Finn kept swallowing, his heart racing. He felt like he was floating here in place, like the grass defeated gravity, like a kiss could tell secrets, like a blow job won the war, like reality outstripped any dream you could name.

After Poe pulled out and tucked himself back in, doing up his trousers with a funny little smirk on his face, he sank down to his knees beside Finn. 

"Ouch."

Finn shook his head and pushed Poe back, off his knees, onto his ass. "Watch your knee, man."

"Yeah," Poe said, readjusting, "Good point." He dug in the duffel and found a hydro-flask. "Here, rinse out your mouth."

Finn grinned at him. His mouth *was* sticky and sour. "I like it this way."

Startled, Poe grinned back. "Gross."

Finn checked the time, then lay back on his elbows. From down here, the sky seemed very far away.


End file.
